


Cuddle Verse

by AkumaStrife



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Cuddle Pile, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 10:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkumaStrife/pseuds/AkumaStrife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you just need some cuddles. None of the Robins are exempt from this fact. There is literally no point to this other than the robins being supportive and snuggly and basically the brothers that we all wish they could've been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bedtime

Tim’s eyes briefly cross, stubbornly refusing to focus. He sighs, which turns into a yawn, as he rubs them furiously. He can’t pass out, not now, not when there’s still so much to do.

His computer hums softly, the artificial glow throwing shadows around the dark room, ever diligent in the face of his exhaustion. But he sucks down the last of his very cold coffee and pushes on. He can’t stop yawning and his mind continues to wander fruitlessly. But he can’t…he can’t fall asleep when there’s….

A warm hand grips his shoulder and he jumps, heart lurching and slamming his knee into the bottom of his desk painfully. “Mother…” he hisses, half turning in his chair.

Dick rubs his shoulder. “You should really get some sleep. You can finish this in the morning, I’m sure.”

Tim shakes his head and goes back to his computer, fingers flying. “Can’t miss my deadline again…need to finish these reports and file those…” he trails off absentmindedly. His eyes are drooping and his breathing is thick and labored, like he’s about to drop at any moment. Tim is obviously far away already and Dick just laughs softly. Typical.

“I figured as much. Good thing I brought some muscle.” He looks up at Jason, who’s leaning in the open doorway, bright light spilling in from the hall behind him.

They share a warm expression.

Jason pads softly across the room and turns the monitor off before gathering Tim up in his arms. He’s still so light and Jason has no problem holding him tightly to his chest, unaffected by his half-hearted struggling.

“Come on, baby bird, you can’t stay up forever.” He crawls into bed with Tim, holding the covers open for Dick to slide in on Tim’s other side. Dick makes a happy sound and pulls Tim close, curling his body around him and nuzzling a kiss into the back of his head. Jason flops an arm over them both and curls his hand at Dick’s lower back. It’s warm and snug, just like a nest.

“There,” Jason says smugly, voice already rough with sleep. The low sound rumbles through Tim and he finds his mind shutting down without his consent. “Now you have to go to sleep.”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Tim murmurs. But his eyes flutter, body relaxing as tense muscle melts into jelly.

The door creaks and Jason half twists, craning his neck over his shoulder. Damian glares from the doorway and huffs loudly. He pulls the door shut behind him and quickly crawls on the bed, forcibly wedging himself under Jason’s arm between him and Tim, wiggling so as to fit with his head under Jason’s chin. Damian mutters angrily about ‘some nerve’ and ‘as if you could just…’ and ‘reduced to such pathetic measures’. Dick chuckles, already half-asleep as he leans over Tim to kiss the tip of Damian’s nose. Damian sputters indignantly, but settles down soon enough.

Dick intertwines his free hand with Tim’s, and a smaller hand twists loosely in the front of his shirt. He doesn’t really know which legs belong to him anymore.

All is quiet and dark and warm. There are no deadlines. There’s just comforting bodies and warm breath washing over his face, rising and falling in sync with his heartbeat.

And Tim has never felt so loved. Never knew it could feel like this.

He falls asleep with a ball of light locked deep in his chest.


	2. Movie Night

“Absolutely not,” Damian snarls.

“Oh, come on, it’s Timmy’s turn to pick.”

“I will NOT watch something so childish as the Muppets.”

“Treasure Island is a classic,” Tim snaps back. “And besides, with the semester I just went through, I deserve to pick.”

Alfred brings in a tray of buttered popcorn (one bowl extra salted as Jason likes it) and mugs of hot chocolate, tailored to  each boy’s tastes.

“Please do not break the coffee table this time, young masters,” Alfred sniffs. And they have enough experience to know it’s more of a threat than it sounds.

“Of course, Alfred, they were just settling down,” Dick hints, giving both of his younger brothers a stern look as he sits beside Jason on the couch. Tim smiles triumphantly at Damian and pops the movie in before settling on Jason’s other side, legs curled up beneath him. Damian sits on the floor grudgingly, pillowed between Jason and Dick’s legs.

The lights dim automatically as the movie starts, the menu music filtering through the surround sound. Tim takes control of the remote and the opening credits cut begin to roll.

It’s dark and comfortable. Dick enjoys nights like these above all else, nights where they’re all together and there’s no emergency or drama to deal with. It’d be better if Bruce was there, but he has to work late and that’s okay too. Because for some reason their dynamic is different when no one’s watching. Damian stops trying to be the best, and Jason isn’t quite so razor-edged. Tim lets down his many-layered guard and fronts. And Dick loves it best when he gets his baby brothers, when he  _really_  gets them.

Tim half turns and scoots into a more comfortable position, stretching his legs into Jason’s lap. It’s a familiar routine and Jason merely lifts his popcorn before settling it back on Tim’s shins, the weight warm and relaxed. He absentmindedly rubs his thumb back and forth along the bone.

Dick tugs the blanket off the back of the couch and unfolds it over the three of them, mainly for Tim’s benefit. It’d been a Christmas gift from Clark many years ago. Tim snuggles down further and it’s not surprising when his eyes begin to droop.

Half way through the movie one of Tim’s legs slips off Jason’s lap to drape over Damian’s shoulder. The youngest tenses automatically, and scrunches his nose in irritation when he looks over his shoulder to complain. But he stops upon seeing that Tim is out cold; his chest rising and falling softly, and his face turned into the back of the couch, no longer pinched with worry like it had been the last few months. With only minimal grumbling he lets the foot remain, cautiously resting his head against the side of Tim’s leg.

~*~

The grandfather clock in the front hall is chiming a quarter past midnight when Bruce comes in. He leaves his things by the stairs before wandering into the TV room, finding Jason flipping through channels with only slight interest, the soft glow from the screen reflecting off the streak of white in his bangs. Bruce smiles softly because he’s practically buried under his brothers.

He quietly moves into the room and leans against the back of the couch, nudging Jason to get his attention.

“You’re home late.”

Bruce doesn’t know whether it’s a statement or an accusation. He lets it slide in favor of smoothing Tim’s hair out of his eyes. “You look rather cozy.”

Jason huffs, rolling his eyes. His arm is asleep where it’s curled behind Dick, who’s passed out into his shoulder. Tim’s leg and half his hips at this point are in his lap, and Damian’s fully leaning between his knees (he’d complained that Dick’s were too boney) with Tim’s other leg looped lightly in his grip, much like a child’s toy. It makes Jason warm and his chest a little tight; makes him tighten his arm around Dick and shift his legs so they’re almost a cradle. Because they’re the only family he’s got. Because they’re more than family, and it’s his job to protect them as best he can.

“Snug as a bug,” Jason mutters. But there’s more fondness than anything in his tone, and so Bruce merely ruffles his hair and stalks to the kitchen easily in the dim lighting. He would help Jay, but the boy is stubborn and would insist on handling his brothers on his own.


	3. Plans

Tim waits until the line goes dead before letting his smile drop. He sighs and the action seems to expel all the energy from him, his shoulders dropping. Tossing the cell on the bed he trudges down the stairs and into the living room where Dick and Jason are playing video games, the air thick with friendly competition. He watches the screen and waits for the match to be over before falling heavily over one of the arms of the couch and across their laps.

Jason tries to tickle his feet but he just kicks his hand away, making a soft noise as Dick cards his fingers through his hair.

“What’s up kiddo? Thought you were hanging out with Kon and Bart today?”

Tim shifts his knees up a little higher, curling up as he presses his face into Dick’s stomach. “Something came up, I guess. I don’t know, but they cancelled again. Shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”

“Assholes,” Jason quips, fingers mashing his controller. Tim smiles a little. Leave it to Jason.

“Drake.” The irritated tone is the only warning he gets before there’s a heavy weight suddenly on his back. “Your insufferable angst is palpable all the way upstairs. Some of us still have work to do.”

Tim rolls his eyes, shifting so Damian’s boney butt isn’t digging directly into his spine. “My bad, I forgot everything revolves around you.”

“Well, as long as you’re aware of your grievances. I’ll forgive you only if you take me out for ice cream. “

“Oh, how merciful,” Tim snorts, but secretly he’s thankful for something to do.

There’s a moment where everything is right. Dick’s hand is in his hair and Jason’s rubbing his ankle, both of them warm and open beneath him, willing to give anything. Tim could take and take and take and they would keep on giving without question. And there’s the faintest pressure of a hand between his shoulder blades, small and reassuring.

But then the moment is broken and Damian’s sliding off him and straightening his shirt, all business, and Tim wonders if he imagined the touch all together.

“Better be quick about it before I change my mind.”

Tim smiles up at him, lips curling in a soft, telling sort of expression. Damian’s sneer falters. He rubs the back of his neck and looks away—trying to ignore how blue Tim’s eyes are under his dark lashes—mumbling something about “…be in the car” and “don’t keep me waiting with your damn primping.”

Tim’s chuckle turns into a yelp as Jason smacks his ass and shoves him onto the floor, cackling as Tim glares. Dick pushes some cash into his hand with a bright smile, and Tim… Tim pushes Kon and Bart from his mind. Because this is good. This is all he really needs.

“Thanks.”

And there’s enough weight behind the words to sober Jason up. He nudges Tim with a foot and nods.


	4. Picnics

“It’s such a nice day for a picnic,” Dick says, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks out over the rest of the park. 

“You gonna come eat, or what?” Jason calls. Tim spreads out a real red and white checkered blanket under a large oak tree, because Damian had been adamant that if he was going to spend his day doing something so frivolous, they were going to do it right. The boy in question is dwarfed by the wicker basket hanging off his arm, filled to the brim with goodies from Alfred. Jason laughs at the sight and takes it from him, ruffling his hair as he does so. Damian takes an angry swipe at him and he arches out of the way, sticking out his tongue. 

There’s turkey sandwiches and potato salad and three thermoses of lemonade and a tupperware filled with brownies. Jason eats most of the sandwiches, but no one complains. 

When most of the food is polished off and the leftovers packed back in the basket, Tim pulls out a book and leans against the tree to read. Dick grabs a frisbee and whips it fast through the air, Jason taking off like a shot after it. They toss it back and forth a few times, their throws becoming faster and more and more space stretching between them, before Dick tries to coax Damian into playing too. 

“C’mon, Dami, it’s fun.”

Damian only snorts and goes back to viciously poking Tim’s bare foot with a plastic fork. Tim looks all the world like he doesn’t even notice, although once he pretends to stretch and jabs his big toe in Damian’s eye. 

“I don’t play childish games.”

“Let it go, Dickie. He’s just self-conscious because he knows he could never beat me,” Jason says. Damian glares, but does not rise to his goading. So Jason grins and twists his wrist as he tosses the frisbee…where it smashes into Damian’s face. The split second expression of shock is priceless, and then he’s sputtering angrily as he jumps to his feet. 

“I am going to kill you, Todd!” Damian races across the grass straight for Jason, who pretends to be scared and runs away. His laughter can be heard clear across the expanse, Tim looking up briefly before going back to his book. Damian launches himself through the air and locks his arms around Jason’s throat, trying to cut off his air and drag him to the ground. 

Dick chuckles as he makes his way back to Tim, knowing that their game has been temporarily put on hold—Damian will not rest until he’s had adequate revenge. He flops down on the blanket and puts his head in Tim’s lap, grinning cheekily up at him. Tim rolls his eyes, but smiles and runs his fingers through the other’s hair anyways. Dick closes his eyes and hums happily, soaking up the attention and bits of warm light streaming through the full branches above them. 

There’s an undignified yelp from across the grass and it should say something that neither boys even look. 

“What are you reading?” Dick asks. 

Tim continues to card his fingers through Dick’s hair, expertly turning a page with his thumb as he holds the book with one hand. “Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“Read it out loud?”

So Tim does. 

Meanwhile Jason sits on Damian’s back, the boy squirming beneath him as he holds his head down. “Give up yet, imp?”

Damian manages to turn his head to the side, eyes burning as he spits grass out of his mouth and hisses, “Never.”

Jason doesn’t have time to react as Damian surges up, wiggling out of his hold and knocks him over. He slams his elbow into Jason’s side, momentarily pleased when the other gasps and wheezes. But then he wraps his big hands around Damian and stands, tossing him over his shoulder as he makes a beeline for the pond. 

“What are you—oh my god, no! You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, but I would.” Jason smirks wickedly and manhandles Damian into a better position to throw. 

“You heathen!” Damian yells in outrage. He squirms out of Jason’s grip enough to get his thighs locked around his middle. Jason tries to yank him off, but Damian just grits his teeth and loops his arms under Jason’s and grips his shoulders from the other side. Jason stops wrestling with him, lungs heaving as they stare stonily at each other, noses almost touching. Neither willing to give up, but unsure how to proceed otherwise. 

A sly smile spreads across Jason’s face, and he wraps his arms around Damian, crossing over his back warmly and hands supporting his thighs. “Wow, Dami. Didn’t know you were so hard up for a hug. You coulda just asked.”

Damian glares hard, but doesn’t loosen his hold. Because he knows Jason’s provoking when he hears it, and he knows that as soon as he lets go Jason’s going to toss him in the pond. Last time he ended up with sixteen leeches stuck to him and three very angry geese who chased him all the way back to the car. 

Minutes tick by and finally Jason realizes that Damian isn’t going to give. So he just shrugs and turns, walking back to their shady tree. Damian tries to climb down, but Jason’s tightens his hold, laughing at the blush rising up his cheeks. 

“I am not a child. Put me down this instant.”

“What? Surely the Great Damian Wayne isn’t embarrassed.”

“Put. Me. Down.”

Jason pretends to think about and then shakes his head, hiking Damian higher on his waist.

Tim merely raises an eyebrow when they make it back and Damian huffs angrily as he’s finally allowed back on the ground. He grumbles and yanks his shirt back into place, moving as far away from Jason as possible, which puts him on Tim’s other side. He leans against Tim’s bent legs, folding his arms on top of Tim’s knees and shoots Jason dirty looks. Jason’s smug though and just stretches out on the blanket and pillows his head on Dick’s stomach. 

The sun is warm, the clouds are fluffy in the bright blue sky, and the birds sing cheerfully in the spring air. It really is a nice day.

Tim goes back to reading to himself, and Damian rests his head on his arms, watching other families in the park.

“A teddybear,” Dick says after a while.

Jason frowns and cranes his neck back to look up at Dick. “What?”

“That cloud looks like a Teddybear,” and he points to the one he’s looking at. 

“Huh, you’re right, it kinda does.” Jason’s attention is now too focused on the slowly drifting clouds, seeking out shapes. “That one there? The one in front of that plane? It looks like a eagle about to catch that smaller cloud.”

Dick hums in agreement, next pointing out one that resembles a whale. They go back and forth like that for a while, Jason’s arm hooked behind his head and Dick playing with the streak of white in his hair absentmindedly.    

“Hey Damian, don’t you see any—“ Dick stops, because Damian’s asleep, his eyelashes casting dark shadows in the warm sunshine. Tim runs his nails lightly up and down his spine as he reads. 

Dick smiles and gets Jason’s phone to take a picture, even if he is going to get clobbered for it later. 


	5. Camping

Crickets chirp faintly under the music floating from the ipod speakers they have set up on a stump. The bonfire is high, bright and warm as it throws shadows of light across their skin. 

Tim sits on a fallen log next to Dick, who’s roasting marshmallows for them all cheerfully. He licks sticky white strands from his fingers and it’s a little obscene; Damian watching with mixed disgust and like he’s seeing the sun for the first time. Tim rolls his eyes. Show off.

A light breeze picks up and Tim shivers, leaning forward towards the fire and curling in on himself. There’s a heavy weight across his shoulders and he looks up, smiling gratefully as Jason wraps his sheepskin coat around him.

Dick rubs his back, working extra warmth into him, as Jason resumes his place standing by the fire. He almost reaches for a smoke, but stops, curls his hands tightly and pushes them into his pockets. Dick glances at him, stretches his foot out to rub his shin, and some of the tension eases out of Jason’s shoulders. 

“I was thinking we could go fishing tomorrow,” Dick says around a thick glob of marshmallow. 

Tim smiles, hunching more into the coat. “Only if it doesn’t rain.”

“But that’s when the fish bite best,” Jason points out. 

“Fine, you two can sit in the rain all day. I’ll stay nice and dry in the tent.” The tent in question is set up behind them; a swampy green thing that keeps out the wind pretty well but was realistically built for three. Tim and Damian are small though, so it’s only a little squished. It was the only one Alfred could find in the shed. (Now that Tim thinks about it, it’s quite possible that Dick had something to do with the missing tents, if only for the excuse that they’d  _have_  to cuddle. It was no secret that Dick was a snuggle addict.) 

Damian says nothing from his spot cross-legged on a boulder. He stares blankly at the dancing flames, eyes drooping sleepily. The breeze shifts, sending a handful of sparks flying and redirecting the smoke directly into his face. He coughs and rubs at his eyes, his face pinched in irritation as he tries to lean out of it. With a smirk Jason circles the fire until he’s standing in front of Damian, blocking the smoke. Damian’s brow furrows, but says nothing. Jason chuckles and pats his head, right between the horns sticking out of his black knit hat. It’d been a joke gift from Tim two years back, and it’s still a little big, coming low down his forehead and covering a great part of his ears. Damian growls under his breath and swats his hand away, but when Jason teasingly begins to move the younger boy snags the hem of his shirt and yanks him back where he blocks the smoke. 

“I’m going to get more hotdogs,” Dick says. He stands and leans his roasting stick with the others against Damian’s rock. 

“Grab me another beer,” Jason calls after him, and Dick waves over his shoulder as he walks up the path to the Wayne Manor.


	6. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren't always like this. They trickled in, one by one, and had to earn what they have now.

Dick is eleven when his parents die in a freak circus accident. Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne steps forward to take him under his wing, and more than a few people are suspicious about the intent and nature of the adoption. But Dick doesn’t question it, just smiles with adoration and hope and hugs Bruce tightly when the papers go through. Children are passed around frequently in his heritage, a home is a home and love is love and family isn’t defined by paltry things like blood. But Bruce is unyielding against him and Dick stops, confused. Rejection cuts him deeper than anything he’s ever known and he instinctually withdrawals a little. 

Had he done something wrong? 

Bruce just smiles tightly and pats his head, somewhat awkwardly. 

It leaves a tiny shadow on the light inside him, smudges it with an ache for approval and acceptance; for love. Highlights a insatiable need for affection that he now knows Bruce will not fulfill. He hugs Bruce when he can get away with it, holds Bruce’s hand when opportunity allows, trying to change him; and satiates his need for physical touch elsewhere.  _Anywhere._

* * *

A dirty urchin named Jay tries to steal a moneybag’s wheels, and is bought lunch for his efforts. He’s wary, watching the man’s hands, making sure they don’t wander too close. He’s only known one thing that rich men want. 

To his surprise the man offers him a home, with food and education and an older brother and everything. He doesn’t understand what the hell for, or what the man’s game is, but his interest is peaked. So he accepts, thumbs his nose and shrugs like it ain’t no big deal, and slides into the sleek black car. It rumbles beneath him and he grins wide, can’t help but stroke the leather seats and hum along with the engine. He’s only momentarily impressed with the size of the mansion. Meets Dick through his delighted laughter and arms that are too constricting. 

The whole thing reeks of something not quite right, something he doesn’t understand fully—he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. 

He’s given a room all to himself and a bathroom with running water and a plush bed softer than angel wings. It scares him. The brazen wealth and the older boy who’s too bright and enthralled to be normal. So he climbs out the window and flees. 

The butler is the one to find him, before the night’s even over, with quiet understanding and disappointment. He gets back into the car and is fed warm milk sweetened with honey and bread stuffed with candied nuts before gentled shuffled off to bed once more. But he runs away again, and again, and again. Confused by his casual rescue. Angry that it all seems to mean little to the rich man. Uncomfortable with the other boy’s obsession with physical touch. 

* * *

Tim is given to them; left behind without a safety net. He stands, a slight child, stonily. Carefully blank as camera’s flash and stories run and he’s passed between large hands, until Mr. Wayne smiles down at him, guiding him with a hand on his lower back through the reporters into a sleek black car. 

Tim smiles politely and recites his P’s and Q’s, and curls in on himself. Tries to be small and unassuming, tries to be as little of a burden as possible. Speaks softly and keeps a respectful distance from everyone and watches from shadow corners as he’s always done. 

Until there’s a day when Dick comes home from summer camp and beams brightly at him, reaches out with tanned hands and pulls Tim out of his corner, and into the sunshine that is his smile, the light in his eyes. And Tim is enamored, trying to steal as much of his warmth as he can, hides it away in his pockets for when he is alone. 

He meets Jason days later, because he had run away again. A sharp youth with a smirk and sarcastic comment always at the ready. He’s strong and volatile, a certain softness sometimes glittering just beneath the surface. Tim doesn’t understand why Jason sneers at him like he does, flinging the word  _replacement_  at him, when Alfred drags him home each time.

Tim’s smart though, eager to prove himself and be useful, and figures it out soon enough. Wraps Jason in a tight hug the next time he comes crawling back, dripping wet with scrapes on his palms.  _You’re hurting them_ , he whispers, even as Jason tries to push him away. Tries to show Jason that he can be strong too, and they’re supposed to be family now. That that word actually means something to him.  _Please stay. You make everyone worry. And that’s not fair when they love you._

It takes a while, but finally Jason stills. 

* * *

Damian is ten when he comes to them, much like a baby in a basket. Standing on their front steps with a pissy look and birth certificates and legal papers clenched tightly in his small fist. Dick takes one look at him and grins wide, sweeps him up into his arms even as Damian protests loudly and painfully like a stray cat. 

Dick loved getting new “baby” brothers, and Jason could never quite understand why. 

Damian’s all piss and vinegar and bottled aggression like a shaken soda can. He watches everything with distrustful eyes and distain, sizes them up as if possible opponents. He pushes Richard’s advances away with outrage and confusion, shrinking back as if he’s never been truly touched. And yet he scoffs when Timothy receives Richard’s affection is his stead; bitter and judgmental. He swats at Drake with claws out whenever he tries to get close, tries to offer understanding as the once new to the newest.

He’s prideful and jaded by a life he refuses to talk about; eyes haunted in a way they all recognize. 

And Jason understands. He knows what it’s like to come from a harsher discipline into one of such warmth—it’s not easy to change a lifetime of drilled in habits. Dick’s focused attention is difficult to get used to, easy to misunderstand. He knows, so he keeps his distance. Smiles with an edge when he catches the kid’s eye. Locks Tim in frequent headlocks that result in lighthearted scuffles and laughter to show him that Tim isn’t so bad. Rolls his eyes and shrugs when the kid’s trapped in Dick’s embrace and looks to him with distaste and traces of curious surprise—sometimes fear, like he expected something much different than a hug. 

It’s not until much later, almost eighteen months, that Jason is flipping through the Sunday comics and Damian approaches him with hesitation. He hovers at Jason’s elbow, bolstered by the fact that Jason does not pry, just waits for him to start on his own. 

Damian presses into his side, trying out this strange behavior called “physical affection” that Richard is so fond of for himself, on his own terms. It’s not so bad.

 _My mother,_  he begins, voice much softer and smaller than Jason has ever heard it. Vulnerable in a way that tears at his heart. He hopes to never hear it again. 

Jason lifts his hand slowly and places it on Damian’s head, pretends not to notice how he flinches, pulls him a little closer, and murmurs,  _I know, kid. I know._


	7. The Beach

“Would you stop that?” Tim swats Dick’s hands away and steps out of reach.

“But, Timmy, if you don’t wear sunscreen then you’re going to burn.”

“Dick’s right, babybird,” Jason says and grins. “Your lily maiden skin is too delicate to be unprotected. 

Tim scowls and kicks sand at him. But in the end he stands obediently and lets Dick rub sunscreen into his shoulders and back. Because he knows first hand how bad sun burns can be and he’d rather not be in blistering pain for a week while someone coats him in aloe vera lotion every four hours like some fish.  

Damian pouts under the large umbrella, knees tucked under his chin and scowling at the other beach goers. He hates being in crowded places. 

But then…for some reason it’s not that crowded around them. It’s like there’s some invisible barrier between their space on the beach and everyone else. The people orbit around them, watching with looks of curiosity and awe and  _want_ , but never venture close. Keeps their distance from the beautiful boys who seem to ooze confidence and sexuality—it’s in the way they move, long limbs and their perfect skin and physiques. How they look at one another with suffocating affection and possessiveness. They are literally untouchable. 

Jason and Dick walk off to toss the volleyball around, the latter patting Damian’s head as he passes. They move far enough away to stay close, but not disturb Tim, who’s sitting out in the sun doing something curious with the sand. Damian’s brow furrows and he moves closer; stands over Timothy and watches as he constructs the foundation for what he assumes is going to be a castle. He’s only seen those made in the movies, and didn’t think that was something people actually did in real life. It seemed a waste honestly, to work so hard on something that can not be preserved, whether because of a reckless child or the high tide.  

“Are you just going to stand there and gawk, or get down here and be useful?” Tim finally asks. 

Damian wrinkles his nose at Tim’s clipped tone, but drops onto the sand across from him and starts digging in the hot sand for the cooler, slightly damper, stuff beneath it. He assumes wet sand will stick together easier and provide a sturdier foundation. He stretches out his legs on either side of where Tim’s marked the edges of the moat, and his foot brushes Tim’s. He glances up quickly, but Tim doesn’t react, just works steadily, so he shifts his foot until the top is pressing fully against the bottom of Tim’s. And it’s…nice.

They continue late into the morning, rarely speaking, but Timothy seems happy, his face relaxed with a soft smile and sometimes humming melodies under his breath. And seeing Tim happy makes Damian feel lighter, every so often shifting his toes along Tim’s heel. Which is totally ridiculous, but he tries not to think about it. 

There’s a commotion a little ways away and they look up for the first time in a while to see how far Jason and Dick have wandered. Dick’s beaming, almost bouncing on his feet as he leans in a little closer to the two lifeguards he’s talking to, one male and the other female. Each grins though, faces flushed as they look him over with something like hunger. And Jason scowls, Tim can see it in the way his fists clench and his shoulders square. He muscles his way into the conversation, saying something to the lifeguards that the two youngest can only assume is passive aggressive with a hint of glee, before he’s sweeping Dick up over his shoulder and tossing him into the rolling surf. 

Tim huffs and rolls his eyes, going back to the castle that’s steadily growing higher, but Damian… Damian watches them, watches the other people stop to watch them. Dick surfaces after a moment, laughing clear and shaking wet hair out of his eyes. He lunges for Jason and yanks him into the water, tackling him down into it. They grapple with one another, Jason holding Dick under and Dick supposedly pulling him off balance by his legs; hands firm and reaching, eyes bright and grins wide. They’re gathering more and more attention, and Damian isn’t quite sure what is welling up inside him, but it makes him irritated. 

Toes scrape lightly along his calf and he whips around to look at Tim. The other boy looks back quietly, still working slowly on their castle, foot still rubbing his skin. Tim sighs and tilts his head just a fraction, and Damian glances at their “older brothers” before turning back fully to Tim. He lifts his chin and digs beside him for more damp sand. And maybe he smiles a little in return.


	8. Board Games

Damian wrinkles his nose as he watches the rain poor outside the dinning room window. He hates rain. It’s cold and clammy and makes soaked clothes stick to him; makes him want to crawl right out of his skin.

He hears Dick before he comes into the room, the tell-tale rattling of a board game preceding him. 

“Hey, Dami, what do you say about playing a game?”

“I really don’t think—“

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jason cuts in, and Damian turns to see him leaning against the door frame. “You’d probably lose anyways, so why bother playing at all.”

“I’m in.”

Dick rolls his eyes and shoots Jason a look, who only shrugs. Hey, he got the kid to play, who cares how he did it. 

They settle around the coffee table near the crackling fireplace, Dick setting up the monopoly board and Jason counting out the colorful money, when Tim comes in with a tray of snacks. 

“From Alfred,” he explains. “I don’t know how he knew, so don’t ask me.”

“Dibs on the racecar,” Jason says and snags it before Dick can argue. 

He pouts, but takes the piece that looks like the titanic instead, grumbling, “The ship’s bigger anyways.”

“Compensating much?”

Damian snorts and retrieves the bag of money token from between the plastic houses, and tossed the terrier to Tim. “Because you’re a little bitch.”

Tim shouts, thoroughly insulted, and rises quickly on his knees to lash out across the table, but Jason roars with laughter and places a hand on Tim’s shoulder to keep him down. Tim yanks away from him, but settles for glaring across the board. 

Jason rolls highest and goes first, putting the game officially in motion. 

They’re five rounds in, Dick buying some low level property, when Tim’s gaze meets Damian’s. It doesn’t matter that they’re not on the best terms; business is business, and a CEO always does what’s best for his company. Or rather, does whatever necessary to win. 

Tim cocks an eyebrow, and Damian’s lips twitch. Tim raises his chin a fraction, not even enough to notice if you’re not looking, and passes up buying boardwalk. Damian tilts his head  _just so_  and agrees to sell his few utility cards to Tim for a surprisingly reasonable amount, even if it completes the set.  

It’s another three rounds when all of the sudden Dick catches on and groans. “Hey, stop that! That’s not fair. No team ups allowed.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damian deadpans. “Also, Jason, you owe me $1,250. Don’t think I didn’t notice you’ve landed on my property.”

Jason sneers and tossed the paper money at him, leaning back on his hands.

 Tim rolls the dice and moves his token. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dick. Me team up with Damian? I gag at the thought.”

And then on the very next round Jason goes bankrupt completely and flips the board, effectively ending the game. 

They switch to watching movies, for everyone’s sake.


	9. Therapy

“Does Daddy know you got into his best scotch?”

Dick makes a tortured sound, stretching along the couch with a glass of scotch in one hand and the other arm thrown across his eyes. “Not if you don’t tell him.” He looks bedraggled, no will to even move.  The bottle of remaining scotch on the coffee table is low, much lower than it should be. Dickie doesn’t drink; Jason the one’s who’s supposed to get in trouble for breaking into Bruce’s liquor cabinet every time he turns around.  

Jason has only seen him like this a few times; a few dangerous times. So he sighs and shakes his head. “If you share.”

Dick snorts at that, and holds out his drink. Jason knocks it back and sets the glass aside, pushing the bottle well out of Dick’s reach before prodding at his shoulder. Dick peeks out from under his arm to give him a confused look, but Jason only rolls his eyes and forcibly lifts Dick’s head so he can sit at the end of the couch, Dick’s head in his lap. He rubs two fingers up and down the side of Dick’s neck, and after a moment Dick begins to relax. 

“This have to do with Kory?”

Dick makes a noncommittal noise. Jason nods to himself and thumbs the shell of Dick’s ear—why is he not surprised?

They sit there for a while; Jason watching Dick’s shallow breathing hiccup every once in a while, and Dick boneless as Jason rubs at his skin with gentle fingers. 

A door slams down the hall and Damian is bitching about something before he even fully enters the room. But he stops at Jason’s hard expression; almost drops his jacket at the sight of Dick. 

Dick holds out his arms, silently pleading with red-rimmed eyes, and it scares Damian. He’s never seen Dick like this before. Dick was supposed to be always happy—glow brightly like their personal sunshine. So he doesn’t resist, doesn’t want to hurt Dick when he’s already so defeated. He crawls over the side of the couch on top of him and lays on his chest, cautiously looping his arms around Dick’s neck when Dick buries his face into his hair.  

With Damian to hold onto, Jason can get his hands free and fishes the remote out from in between the cushion and the arm of the couch. They’re probably going to be there for a while. 

 He flips through channels and hesitates on the movie channel where Mary Poppins has just barely started. And, predictably, Dick perks a little, turns his head so he can watch. Jason settles back and tosses the remote on the side table as he leans his chin on one hand. As soon as Dick Van Dyke starts talking, he knows Timmy will come running, and it’ll do Dick good to have him there as well. Dick does better with people around anyways. 

Jason rests his hand on the back of Damian’s neck and, when the boy looks up at him, he nods once. For all his ease and palpable happiness, Dick is fragile. Jason has always wondered if maybe Dick needs them, more than the other way around.


	10. Trick-or-Treating

Tim nibbles on an oversized snickers as he sits on the bathroom counter attached to Dick’s room, meticulously cleaning off the costume make-up with wet cotton balls. Being a panda had definitely not been at the top of his idea list—actually, he didn’t even have a list. Halloween was not his holiday, and he hadn’t gone trick or treating in years. It was Dick’s fault they all had to scramble last minute for costumes. 

When Damian had made some snide comment about “needy children and their grubby hands stuffed with messy chocolate”, Jason waved him off dismissively and pointed out that no one liked a hypocrite. 

At Damian’s silence, Jason shot him a look and asked, “You  _have_ gone trick or treating, right?”

Damian had only crossed his arms and shot him a pissy look, as if that was  _absurd._ And then Dick had flown off the handle and demanded that they “fix this terrible grievance against childhood” and here they are. Because when one Wayne boy does something, apparently they’re all required to. Tim’s surprised Dick and Jay got any candy, being as old as they are. But then… maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at all. 

“Damn, this is the best haul we’ve ever got!” Jason says from the floor, rummaging through Damian’s candy pile.  _I’m checking for poison and razor blades, it’s because I care._  Damian glares, cross-legged on the other side, unwilling to leave Jason unsupervised with his candy for even a moment. He wasn’t keen on joining the plebeian masses in their pagan festivals, but he’d worked for that candy fair and square. 

Jason pushes his cowboy hat back so it hangs around his neck by the string, loosening the red bandana. He pops a miniature butterfinger into his mouth and Damian glares harder. The rest of his outfit consists of worn boots and leather chaps (which, thankfully, cover his ass, unlike the first pair he’d threatened them with at the halloween store). He’d had a flannel shirt at one point, but early in the evening he let a soccer mom tear it off in exchange for the entire candy bowl. His candy is already carefully stashed in his room, knowing that if he leaves it out Dick will somehow take out all the reese’s without anyone seeing. He hasn’t been able to safely eat his reese’s since he moved in all those years ago—Dick is a peanut butter fiend. 

“I wonder why,” Tim says with a roll of his eyes. “We ended up with more candy than a couple of slutty cheerleaders and nurses.” He shoots Dick a pointed look. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But Dick’s eyes are bright and he grins widely. Damian had only agreed to go out all over the neighborhoods  _on foot_  under two conditions:  _he_ got to be Batman, and Dick had to be his Robin. And which generation did he pick?

The colored tunic barely comes under his ribs, and the green, scaly panties cling far too tightly, just barely fitting enough to be out in public. 

“Those pixie boots are fucking obscene,” Jason says around a mouthful of chocolate. “They should be illegal. I’m surprised you didn’t get arrested. Oh wait,” he leers, “you did. Multiple times.”

Dick grins wider and shrugs, taking a sip of the apple cider Alfred brought when they’d first gotten home. The amount of times costumed officers slapped him in plastic handcuffs, or pushed him up against a wall, or bent him over the hood of car and ordered him to “Spread ‘em” was honestly impressive. 

Damian’s lip curls in disgust. “You both are incorrigible. How are you even allowed outside?”

Dick unwraps two starburst and begins twisting them together. “Speaking of being allowed outside,” he motions to the gun holstered to the inside of Jason’s thigh, “that the real one?”

Jason looks down at his lap before winking up at him. “They both are. Care for a demonstration?”

“Oh my  _god,_ please stop.” Tim whines, throwing himself against Jason’s back and draping his arms over his bare shoulders, head-butting the back of his head. “You’re making my brain bleed.”

Damian tosses Tim a handful of peppermint patties. “Here, Drake, make yourself useful for once.” The mint candies are both Tim’s favorite and not something the rest of them like. It’s a win-win. 

Tim digs his chin into Jason’s shoulder and opens one, pausing as he stares down at it in abject horror. At the shiny metal protruding from the thin chocolate shell. “Oh my god… there’s actually a razor blade in this. I didn’t know that was actually going on still.”

“It’s not,” Damian deadpans. “I put it in there for you.”

Tim launches himself at Damian, and Dick uses the distraction to transfer all of Damian’s peanut butter cups into his own candy bag. 


	11. A Very Cuddle Verse Christmas

It’s christmas and the entire manor is decorated to the nines. Dick loves Christmas, and so each year it’s only inevitable that he ropes the others into making the manor as festive as humanly possible. Sometimes he bribes them, sometimes he goads and challenges them, turns them against each other with competitive natures. However he does it, it always gets done and he always has a warm house filled with Christmas cheer. Garlands and tinsel and springs of holly and mistletoe. A kitchen filled with sweets and eggnog and stuffed breads. When it gets dark Alfred turns on the christmas lights and the halls are aglow. 

There’s not many presents under the towering tree, but then, there never really is. They purchase anything they want through out the year, and so Christmas tends to be small; filled mainly with homemade and joke presents. It’s all about the tradition anyways. Tim got them all into Harry Potter that year, made it a weekly routine in which they’d all curl up in Bruce’s study, taking turns reading aloud. And so Alfred had helped him knit them their own Weasley sweaters in their respective house colors. 

 But Bruce has that  _look_  in his eyes, the smug one where he knows he’s outdone all of them (unfortunately, even this aspect of their lives usually ends up in competition). He waves to Alfred and says casually, “Please bring in the boys’ gift.” 

“Of course, Sir. Wouldn’t want it getting too cold.”

Tim looks to Damian and cocks an eyebrow.  _Food?_  

Damian shakes his head, his forehead pinched as he watches Alfred disappear through the dinning room. Food is rarely impressive, and wouldn’t top Jason’s erotic cookbooks.

They can hear the patio door slide open and a gust of cold air slips into the room, and then things happen too fast. There’s the sound of a rattling chain and heavy footsteps and Tim is knocked to the side before he can even register what’s happening, stumbling back into Jason’s lap. Damian grunts as his back hits the ground and there’s suddenly a hundred pounds of wriggling mass on him. 

“Get this filthy beast  _off_  me!” Damian wheezes. Dick laughs delightedly and drags the great dane off the boy and around the mess of torn wrapping paper. The dog trembles in happiness, unsure whether to sit down or jump up and ends up looking like it’s having an elated seizure. 

“You got us a dog,” Jason says, unable to keep the wide grin from practically splitting his face. He bends down to scratch behind the dog’s ears and is rewarded by being pushed onto his ass and his face meticulously covered in slobber. 

They all hesitate because Jason’s never looked so  _happy._

“I hate to break up your introductions,” Alfred says, “but Titus is dripping snow on the carpet and the state of his coat is utterly disastrous. I must insist he be given a bath straight away.” There’s no room in his tone for argument and the boys quickly scramble to their feet, Jason hooking two fingers in the dog— _Titus’_ collar.

Damian sputters as he flicks dirt from his shirt. “I want nothing to do with the mutt!”

“Don’t be difficult, Baby Bat,” Dick says, and hoists him up over his shoulder. With boy and dog in tow, they go upstairs to one of the larger bathrooms. Tim fills the tub as Dick rummages under the sink for a mild shampoo.

Getting Titus  _in_ to the tub is another matter entirely. No coaxing, bribing with beef jerky, or trickery will get him over the edge and into the warm, soapy water. Dick even strips off his clothes and gets into the tub himself, trying to drag Titus in from that side. 

All their efforts has amount to so far is displacing water all around the tub—the bathmat long been soaked. Damian sits on the far end of the counter, pointedly refusing to lift a finger to help.

“C’mon, Titus, the water is really nice,” Tim pleads as he swishes his hand through the water. The dog looks tempted, but whines and jerks back when Tim smiles and reaches out to snag his collar. The abrupt movement sends Tim reeling and, before Jason can grab him, his bare feet slip on the wet linoleum and he plunges head first into the tub. More water sloshes over the edge—at this rate they’ll have to refill it. 

Dick quickly grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him up. Tim sputters and gasps as he clings to the lip of the tub, in shock as he wipes his eyes and slicking back his hair. 

Damian snickers and Tim sends him a withering look. “Keep it up, brat, and you’ll be next.”

Damian just snorts and rolls his eyes. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Jason says, and tugs his shirt off. Despite how Titus whines and struggles he gathers the huge dog in his arms and carefully steps into the tub. But as soon as Titus touches the water he howls and there’s more splashing and Damian’s sharp laughter echoing off the tile. 

* * *

When it’s been quiet for far too long Alfred goes to check on them. After all, the dog was filthy, but death by drowning is not worth the effort. He sniffs at the water all over the floor, and looks to the tub with mounting resignation. Those boys can never do anything without some sort of fuss. 

Dick’s dozing against one end of the tub, his arms loosely draped around Damian, who’s leaning up against his chest with revenge clear in his eyes—clothes and all. Jason’s propped against the opposite end, his legs no doubt tangled with Dick’s uncomfortably against the porcelain. He scoops up bubbles and blows them at Damian, who swats at them like an angry cat. Tim looks far too smug as he sits sideways in the middle, his legs hanging over the edge of the tub. He rubs Titus’ head and down between his shoulders with one foot. The dog… somehow manages to be perfectly dry as he sprawls over the bathmat, tail wagging excitedly at all the activity and new playmates. 

Alfred merely sighs quietly and informs, “Dinner will be at six sharp. You’d best be all dry and cleaned up and at the table when I serve the roast.”  

* * * 

Hours later when all is dark and quiet, Bruce retired to his study and Alfred making his last rounds to turn off all the christmas lights, he finds Damian. 

The boy is on his stomach on the floor next to the christmas tree, head pillowed against Titus’ shoulder, who’s curled around Damian and snores loudly. 

Alfred tuts softly and bends down to pick the young master up and off to bed. But he stops, because under Damian’s small fingers is a piece of paper and a mess of colored pencils. He carefully slides it out from under the hand and holds it up to the Christmas lights. And even he cannot suppress a fond smile at the drawing of all of them, of their family. For all Damian’s snarling, he even included Titus. 

Alfred pins the drawing up on the fridge and drapes a blanket over the boy and the dog and leaves them be. 


	12. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set before Damian joins them. (brief allusion to noncon, if that makes you uncomfortable)

It starts just as it always does. He hasn’t had the nightmare in a while, not since… well, he just hasn’t. Not recently.

_This time he’s right on the street, back in his old neighborhood. (_ Sometimes it starts during the dinner before, when he had meatloaf and mashed potatoes and those green things that look kind of like weeds? And he has to deal with Alfie’s sharp stare as he backs out of the room, full and satiated, to climb out his window. Sometimes he’s dropped right in the middle, tossed like a toy onto the rough concrete.)

_He’s back on those dirty, damp streets, in the seedy area of Gotham. One of them at least. He’s fourteen probably, might even be as old as fifteen, maybe still thirteen and raw, but he doesn’t remember, tries not to, because either way it’s all fucked up and things are better now._

_He’s_ young _, and his nice, name brand sneakers splash into puddles as he twists corners and dashes through alleys and over garbage and filth. The alleys seem longer than they were. The shadows deeper and more alive. Things blur and buildings loom high above him, tall as skyscrapers. Bending down into him, trapping him in the places he used to know best. Events flash and skip like a scratched dvd and suddenly they’ve got him._

_“Well, well, look who it is,” one of them sneers. Jason has long blocked out his face. All of their faces. But he remembers their touch, what their breaths smelled like. He can’t forget that, no matter how hard he tried, how many bottles he’s emptied and pills he’s choked on. He remembers their tight fists around his biceps as he kicks and shouts, but there’s no one to help him._

_They drag him to one of the abandoned warehouses that are in abundance around this area. Gets thrown into a chair and secured with zip-ties pulled too tightly. One of the men with the blurred out faces grabs his chin and Jason spits in his face, vicious and pleased. He gets a punch to the side of the head for his efforts and sways for a moment, dazed._

_“Now, let’s place nice, Jaybird.”_

_The old nickname makes his eyes focus and his stomach twists._ (Sometimes, in these nightmares, the name will throw him even farther back. Will save him from this hell and send him to purgatory. To where he used to work corners with his bright eyes and coy smiles. A kid’s gotta eat after all, and sometimes he had younger ones squatting with him—orphans or runaways, it didn’t matter. They had to eat too and relied on him to keep their stomachs from aching and the frostbite from their fingers). 

_“Pig!” is all Jason says back, and that receives a few indulgent chuckles._

_“Listen, boy, this doesn’t have to be hard.” The man crouches down in front of him and Jason doesn’t look into his eyes. Not then, and not now._ (Thinking back, the men couldn’t have been hardly older than himself. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. Thugs who had to grow up in the life that he almost had, fighting and committing petty crimes just to make ends meet.) 

_“We heard you got picked up. A real rich guy. Bet he’ll shell out a nice coupla g’s for ya, huh?”_

_“Ha, fat fucking chance!” Jason snaps. Smirks with all the bravado he has left. And it’s a lot, because he hasn’t been off the streets but a solid year at most and he hasn’t let himself get soft. “The guy doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. Just keeps me around for his other charge. For his own PR. Prick doesn’t even know my name.”_

_“Is that so? Daddy dearest went to all the trouble to pick you up, I bet he’ll pay a pretty penny for you even now.”_

_“I really doubt it, but have fun wasting your time trying.” And Jason says it with so much conviction that his captors falter. Because, as far as Jason knows, it’s the truth. That Bruce doesn’t really care about him and Dick only uses him as some convenient teddy bear for his warped need for affection—not even that anymore really. Not since they got that new kid. Tim something. Quiet little bitch that followed Dick like a disease. And Dick ate it up; boy did he ever. They didn’t need him. They wouldn’t miss him._

_“Well,” the man drawls, and Jason can hear the others shifting closer, “if no one’s looking for you, then we might have another use for you yet. Had a bit of a reputation before you bailed, y’know. Real clever with that tongue of yours.”_

_If they thought they’d scare the ransom money out of him, they had another thing coming._

_The man grips his chin again, and when Jason can’t wrench it free he feels the first flutterings of fear. His heart jumps and his throat almost closes up, and he looks around for possible escape routes._

_There’s a bark of laughter from his left and he closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. Time lapses. Folds on itself and jolting forward passed the pain and how they beat him as if sport. The nightmare skips the easy stuff, the nice stuff, and presses play right as he’s untied from the chair and tossed to the concrete floor, limp and biting back groans._

_Everything slows into half speed as they come closer, tugging at him, pulling at clothes, arranging him, filling the air around them with filth and threats and promises and…_

_And…_

_And…_

_And…_

_* * *_

When Dick is suddenly awake, he doesn’t question it. He’s always been a bit empathetic, but ever since gaining brothers it’s amplified ten fold. It’s three in the morning, but Dick gets out of bed and tugs a shirt on as he quickly stumbles out of his room. He checks on Timothy first, as the newest he’s probably the most prone to waking the middle of the night panicky at the unfamiliar surroundings. 

But as he quietly pushes the bedroom door open, he is met with Tim’s clear gaze. He’s sitting up, knees folded up against his chest, and looks peculiarly coherent. Almost fearful. 

“You heard it too?” Tim asks, and for a moment the question doesn’t register with Dick. “I… I don’t know… what am I even supposed to  _do?”_

And then Dick’s eyes snap open wide and he’s reassuring Tim to go back to sleep before flying down the hallway. Tim, of course, worries far more than is probably healthy, and it’s scant seconds before his socked feet thump quietly after him. Dick shoves his way passed the lock on Jason’s door (he’s always kept it locked, but that doesn’t mean it’s a particularly good lock, and with enough jostling and force it will open, which Dick has gotten particularly good at) and Tim stops short, hesitating in the door way. 

Jason toss and turns, sucking in a rattling, desperate breath as if there’s something obstructing his throat. Dick doesn’t stop; he didn’t stop the first time it happened and there’s nothing that’ll stop him now. He climbs into Jason’s bed and tugs him close, unaffected how the younger boy fights him. 

“Jason, Jay, it’s okay,” Dick shushes, rocking him a little and trying to wake him. They’ve gone pretty long without an episode, a few months at least, and he’d hoped they’d moved passed it. But even though Jason snaps awake with a hoarse shout, gasping and trying to push Dick away, it takes him a few minutes to orient himself, to ground himself in reality. It’s some of the longest minutes of Tim’s life. 

“Shh, it’s alright, you’re alright, Jason,” Dick soothes, holding him firmly and rubbing his back, “You’re awake now, and I’ve got you. And Tim’s here, because he cares too. You remember Tim, don’t you?” Jason stops thrashing in favor of trembling and muffling shuddering sobs into Dick’s shirt. They won’t talk about it in the morning, they never do, but it’s all right now because the lights are off and Jason’s still pulling himself back together. 

Tim slinks a little farther into the room, unsure if he’s allowed or encroaching on something he has no business seeing. He doesn’t even know what this is about, but he’s heard Jason a few times before. He’s never come in, didn’t think it was his place, but he’s laid awake listening to Jason suffer and Dick trying to calm him down. 

He edges closer to the bed, and neither boy tells him to stop. Carefully, oh so carefully, he slides onto the foot of the bed and inches up slowly. He doesn’t want to startle Jason, or trigger something, but he feels so helpless and itches to do something. 

Jason seems like he’s nearing the tail end of whatever’s going on, his hiccups quiet and fewer, his hands not gripping Dick quite so tightly. So Tim lies down behind him and scoots into him, tries to curl up around him even though he’s still too small. Jason flinches, but Dick smiles at him weakly over Jason’s head. Tim wraps one arm over and around Jason’s middle and buries his face in between his shoulder blades. He feels so weak and anxious, and this is the best he can do.

After a while, the sky still dark outside the window and Tim already sleep again, Jason can finally think clearly. Can reflect without shuddering with revulsion and shame. He feels the damp patch of Tim’s breath against his back, the strength in his arm even asleep, and is reminded of a different part of that day. Of when he’d finally been kicked aside and left tied up in that cold building. He’d managed to get himself free and out into the raining streets of Gotham, and when he’d come crawling home, dripping wet with scrapes on his palms, Tim had been there to ambush him. 

Tim had forced him into a hug that was ill-timed and made his skin crawl; made Tim press against all the concealed cuts and bruises beneath his clothes that made him want to retch and scrub his skin clean off until all that was left was bloody muscle and bone. Tim had been there, waiting for him to come home, so he could tell him to stop running away, to stop hurting everyone. Trying to prove something to Jason, trying to prove to Jason that family was more than a name on a legal document. 

And Jason, who couldn’t separate himself from the boy who lived in drafty holes and smiled for shady business men, stopped fighting when Timothy muttered,  _Please stay. You make everyone worry. And that’s not fair when they love you._

_* * *_

The next day Jason dyes his hair black, like the rest of them. Dick bemoans the loss of his “lovely red”, but Timothy diligently helps as requested, and doesn’t ask questions when Jason bleaches a strip of his bangs a sharp white. He smiles shyly when Jason pushes him around and jokes about pouring bleach into Dick’s shampoo. 

The next day Jason takes control of his body in the only way he knows how, and feels a little better when he looks in the mirror and someone else is staring back.


	13. The Hunt

Alfred insisted on brunch. No amount of hinting and pleading would get him to change his mind, and really, they should’ve known it was futile. Damian went so far as to feign that he wasn’t even hungry. What ensued was a staring contest between himself and their butler that lasted exactly eight and half minutes and ended in Damian slinking to the table with a murmur of, “Well, perhaps I am peckish.”

Brunch was quick and silent and  _tense_. Bruce rolled his eyes but didn’t comment. Jason leered at Tim across the table, while Damian kicked Dick’s shin and then proceeded to appear the face of innocence. 

“Oh for god’s sake, Alfred,” Bruce finally said. He threw his napkin to the side of his plate and sat back. “They’re not going to last much longer. You’re killing them.”

Alfred dabbed at his mouth and looked unimpressed. “Of course, Master Bruce. You have exactly six minutes to prepare yourselves.”

The reaction was instantaneous. The boys jumped out of their seats and took off, silverware clattering and chairs rocking precariously. Titus barked excitedly and took off after them. The thundering of their feet was loud down the paneled hallways and up the stairs. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Alfred said. Bruce waved his hand and opened the newspaper—there was no way he was getting tangled up in the chaos that was about to take place.

Pocket watch in hand, the butler waited at the foot of the main stairs, in the foyer.  Almost as one the four boys came hurtling from various directions and skidded to a halt in front of him, lined up neatly from oldest to youngest. They each had a large backpack strapped tightly to them, and utility belts full of various equipment and devices. Jason had even gone so far as to nab Dick’s holster and had a pair of airsoft guns strapped to his thighs. 

“Are we ready?”

No one said a word, muscles tensing in preparation.

“The rules are as follows, and anyone who is found breaking them will be disqualified immediately and their haul re-hidden. There are to be no real weapons, no narcotics, no maiming nor serious injuries of any kind. The attic and my personal garden are off limits. None have been hidden in any personal rooms, but you may use your own as you see fit.” Alfred paused and they grew restless.

Damian looked ready to murder, and Jason hunched slight, arms loose at his sides. Dick bounced on the balls of his feet—limber. Tim was unreadable as always, but his eyes were alert and focused. 

“There are one thousand eggs hidden in the manor and on the grounds. You have until sundown.”

“What does the winner get?” Damian asked. 

“The satisfaction of finding the most eggs.”

“Oh, come on, Alfie,” Jason said. “You know us.”

The butler looked at them all for a moment, checked his pocket watch, and said, “The winner gets two privileges. One, they do not have to help clean up when the hunt is over. Two, he also gets to drive the vehicle of his choosing from the garage for two weeks.”

Damian blanched. “But I can’t even drive yet! How is that fair at all?”

“You, young master, get to be driven by any of your brothers in any vehicle of your choosing, whenever you please.”

Damian looked to the others, his grin mean and sharp. 

There was an audible click, and the grandfather clock in the hall chimed exactly eleven times, Alfred’s pocket watch synched perfectly. The words to begin were hardly out of his mouth before the four took off.

They’d all drawn up their own battle plans the night before, and for the first ten minutes they didn’t cross paths at all. The manor was a big place, after all.

Dick headed towards the kitchen when he heard the sharp  _pop pop pop_ , and quickly jumped back, the pellets hitting the carpet at his feet. He looked up and Jason grinned.

“Not so fast.”

Dick looked between him and the kitchen door behind him, and feinted left before sprinting to the right into the main dinning room. Bruce was still at the table reading the paper when they charged in. He didn’t look up, and merely turned the page with a crisp snap to keep it straight. Dick stepped up onto one of the chairs and flipped over the table, making a break for the kitchen. 

“Son of a bitch,” Jason said and tried to shoot the back of Dick’s knee. He ended up hitting the doorframe instead and growled in frustration as he slid over the table as well, dragging the table cloth askew and several utensils clattering to the floor. Bruce merely made a sound of interest in reference to the stocks and switched to sports. 

Jason couldn’t exactly throw Dick out of the kitchen now that he’d managed to get in, so all he could do was put the pistols away and begin searching the room in earnest. They sorted through mugs and dishes and canisters of dry ingredients, and each egg was painted to blend in with whatever they were hidden in. Jason got flour everywhere, but found two eggs. Dick had been on the counters from the start and was rummaging through cabinets, even hauling himself up on top of the fridge and finding an egg wedged between it and the ceiling.

They looked through the fridge and the drawers and mixing bowls; and the pantry was in a state of disarray by the time they’d stripped it. 

Damian had been lodged into the chimney, his hand curled around what he hoped was an egg, when he’d heard the gun fire in the hall. He’d held his breath and waited a full three minutes before he deemed it safe to come out. He put the black egg in his bag and took off in the opposite direction. He almost had his hand on the bathroom door handle when he stopped. The door was always left open unless in use, but no one was going to waste time on breaks when so much was at stake. 

He grabbed the handle and hissed, yanking it away. “Timothy,” he snarled. The handle shocked him when he tried to turn it, and Timothy was currently taking both a shop and tech class. Who knew what other traps lay in store if he were to get the door open. And it was no doubt that Timothy had quarantined the other bathrooms as well, saving them for his own perusal after they’d exhausted the main areas of the house. 

“You’ve won this time,” Damian said aloud, even if Timothy wasn’t around to hear him, “but don’t think the lavatories will save you.”

He continued down the hall, stopping to search each table and potted plant and vent. There were even some balanced precariously behind tapestries and he had to be cautious that by finding one he didn’t dislodge another. Broken eggs did not count. 

A cold breeze blew over him and he stopped, looking back towards the foyer. Someone had gone outside. He padded quickly back and peeked around the door. Dick was searching the shrubs at the bottom of the steps, Titus bouncing and barking excitedly by him. With a grin Damian slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt. Dick shouted from outside and beat on the door. 

“It is your own fault for being caught unaware,” he shouted back and laughed as he ran for the parlor and locked all the other doors leading outside. One down. Two to go. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dick muttered. He didn’t blame the kid, though, it was a smart move. He looked down to Titus and thought for a moment. Pulling out a pink egg he held it under the dog’s nose. “Smell this? Think you could find more?”

At first Titus tried to eat the egg, but after a few more times of getting him to smell it, Titus’ ears perked up and he swiveled around. He snuffled through the flower beds and lawn, barking excitedly when he found eggs hidden among the foliage and lawn chairs. Dick couldn’t get around back because the fence was locked, and was too smooth for him to climb. The garage, he found, had also been locked, and the key-code changed. 

“Damn kid,” he said with a grin. “You got me good.”

Dick patted Titus’ head and zipped his backpack up. He looked up at the front of the manor and positioned himself at the living room window. “Once a carny, always a carny, right?”

Titus barked and Dick took that as positive reinforcement. He gripped the top of the window frame and hoisted himself up, steady climbing up the side of the house via windows and light fixtures above the garage and flower boxes. His foot slipped on a wet windowsill and, before he fell, pushed off with his other foot and flung himself to the front stoop overhang. He scrambled for purchase and pulled himself up. It was easier from there, and when he reached the gargoyles on the edge of the roof, he stopped. 

Carefully he wiggled a gray egg from between the gargoyle’s barred teeth. “Well I be damned. That’s sneaky, Alfred.”

Keeping low to the roof, Dick moved to the backside and dropped down to Tim’s balcony. The door was unlocked, thankfully, and he slipped inside. He stopped with a lurch, foot barely three centimeters from a trip wire. The bed was covered with devices and the rest of the floor was sectioned off by more wires. Timothy had put a lot more thought into this aspect than he expected. He bounded across the floor, easily jumping and contorting his body to move around the wires. He threw the door open, and barely dodged the weighted disk that came hurtling towards his stomach. 

He watched it swing from a cord in the doorframe as he caught his breath. “So much for no bodily harm.”

There was a pounding on the stairs and Dick whipped around to see Jason, breathing heavily and shoving a new cartridge in his airsoft. Dick weighed his options and bolted towards him, who stopped, eyes widening in confusion and slight fear. Dick threw himself to the side at the last minute and kicked off from the wall and onto the banister, took two steps, and flung himself to the chandelier. It swung dangerously wide, the crystal tinkling. 

“Alfred’s going to kill you!” Jason hissed. 

Dick just grinned over his shoulder and used the momentum to drop to the stairs on the other side of the foyer. Rolling over the railing he took a sharp turn down into the basement. 

“Fucking crazy,” Jason muttered. He turned towards the hall and realized his mistake. He could only recognize Damian’s sharp grin before the kid threw the rope at him. It had a weight at each end and when it hit his shins, wrapped around his legs tightly, and he tipped backwards. He twisted as much as he could mid-fall to avoid crushing the eggs in his bag. 

“I won’t forget this, demon brat,” Jason wheezed, the air knocked out of him. Damian sprinted away as fast as he could. He rolled to the side and stretched his arm at an odd angle to reach the front pocket of his bag. In it was a knife and he flipped it open and cut through the rope. Where’d Damian even learn to make one of those, anyways?

Jason ducked into the library and started throwing books off the shelves. Alfred would have his head if he damaged one of them, but he had to beat Damian or else he’d never hear the end of it. His bag was getting heavy, and it was starting to pull at his shoulders. He was sure the other were dealing with the same thing, though, so at least they all had the handicap. He pulled a book out and jumped, seeing Tim’s face through the gap. In an instant he’d dropped the book and spun around the end into the aisle, his pistol up. Tim put his hands in the air quickly. He had a light blue egg in one hand.

“I’m unarmed.”

Jason laughed. “Fat chance.”

Tim smiled and reached his hands back slowly. Jason watched him carefully, plastic gun following the movement. 

“I’m just… going to put this in my bag.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. 

Tim twisted the egg one-handed and chucked it forward. Jason rolled to the side as the pseudo egg started billowing smoke. 

“Liar,” Jason spit as he coughed. He squinted through the mass and made a quick calculation, before surging forward into the cloud and locking his arm around Tim’s neck. 

Tim shouted in surprised and scratched at Jason’s arms, but his leather jacket kept Tim from getting a good hold. 

“We’re going to put you where you can’t cause anymore trouble, pipsqueak.” Jason dragged him over to the closet and shoved him inside, slamming the door on him. He flipped the lock and jammed a chair under the handle as a precautionary measure. 

Tim pressed his ear against the door and, when he heard Jason’s footsteps retreating, dropped his bag to the floor. He unzipped the inside pocket and groped for the flashlight. He stuck it in his mouth as he pulled out a screwdriver and began on the hinges. This would definitely set him back, but—as far as he could tell—none of the others had figured out that some of the eggs were wrapped in bits of spare wallpaper and taped to the walls. He had the hunt in the bag. 

* * *

After the house had been thoroughly torn apart and all the eggs unearthed, Alfred took their bags and locked them in the parlor so as to keep them from being tampered with. Dinner passed without incident, the boys too exhausted to do much else besides eat enough for a small army.  

While Alfred counted they collapsed into a pile in the living room. Jason didn’t even make it to the couch, and laid on the floor parallel to the couch, an arm flopped over his eyes. Dick just laughed and pillowed his head on Jason’s stomach, who grunted at the sudden weight. Tim stepped over them carefully and leaned into the armrest of the couch, feet propped up on Jason’s bent knees. Bruises started to color and muscles grew stiff and achy with the abuse they’d gone through. Damian had a twisted ankle elevated up on the coffee table, over Jason’s face. 

“If you drop your feet on me, I will not hesitate to throw you out the window,” Jason threatened.

Damian tilted his head, but fatigue won out. “I suppose I put you through enough torture today.”

Transgressions had been forgiven for the most part, as no one had left the fray unscathed in some way and revenge had been achieved for all accounts.

“I had to pull an egg from the garbage disposal,” Jason groaned. 

“You should’ve packed gloves,” Tim quipped. “I knew there’d be eggs in the toilets’ water tanks.”

“You were prepared for everything. I’m impressed,” Dick said. 

Jason grinned. “Well, except for the pool.”

Tim glared and pushed at Jason’s knees, but said nothing. He still felt a bit damp despite changing clothes. 

Dick licked a thumb and leaned up to scrubbed at Damian’s wrist. “You’ve still got some soot on you.”

Damian batted his hand away. 

Alfred came in and they all perked up. He treated them each to a long and impartial stare. “I have counted the eggs carefully, and found the winner to be…”

“Alfred stop with the effects!” Jason snapped. He didn’t care who won anymore. He was tired and sore, and just wanted the suspense to be over. 

“Richard,” Alfred said, “found a total of three hundred and fourty-four eggs.”

“What?” Damian shrieked. He sat up quickly and winced, the movement jarring his ankle. 

“I don’t understand,” Tim said. He looked down as he thought back, unable to believe all his hard work was for not. “I did so much planning…”

Dick smiled and closed his eyes, settling more comfortably into Jason’s abdomen. “You all were so focused on sabotaging each other that you spent less time actually looking for eggs. It’s okay, it was a rookie mistake. Maybe next year.”

Damian gave a strangled cry of rage and, his ankle be damned, threw himself down on top of Dick. 

Jason choked out a few choice words in protest. “Get the fuck off me!” 


End file.
